


Hard Truths, Soft Conclusions

by shadowmaat



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Criticism of Jedi without vilification, F/M, Politics, references to slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat
Summary: After a slave rebellion, Plo Koon is sent to Tatooine to negotiate over hyperlane rights, but concerns raised by the former slaves leave him questioning his role in the war and the lives of his men. Luckily, Shmi Skywalker is there to lend a helping hand.
Relationships: Plo Koon/Shmi Skywalker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 212
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	Hard Truths, Soft Conclusions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jen425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jen425/gifts).



> This was an interesting challenge and it came with a _great_ prompt. I hope I managed to do it justice!

The revolution happened while the galaxy’s attention was focused on the war with the Separatists. Some might have said that there were “more important” matters to worry about than a slave uprising on an outer rim world, but the “insignificant” issue became important when the Jedi Council received word that their ships no longer had permission to use the hyperlanes around Tatooine.

In Plo’s mind, it would have made far more sense to send newly-minted Knight Skywalker in to negotiate, since he was familiar with both the planet and its people, but in the end, Grandmaster Yoda decided that Plo himself was the only one who could handle such a delicate mission.

“Too headstrong, he is,” Yoda had said of Young Skywalker. “Impartial he will not be.”

They were valid points, although they also overlooked the vast improvements the boy had made since joining the Order. Still, it wasn’t his place to question the will of the Council and so off he went to Tatooine, taking only three of his troopers with him. He doubted that his life was in any danger, but Wolffe had insisted, and Plo easily caved to his Commander’s wishes. 

It wasn’t until they were standing before the Free Peoples’ Committee that he realized just how complicated the mission was going to be. The four “Elders” introduced themselves; a leathery old trandoshan named Askrik whose horns had been snapped off, a young and fidgety twi’lek lady named Pampy, a heavily-scarred rodian who said her name was Jeela, and a middling-aged human woman with graying hair who looked him right in the eye as she gave her name: Shmi Skywalker.

“You would be Anakin’s mother, then, if I’m not mistaken?” He inclined his head, ignoring the way Wolffe had stiffened beside him.

“I am.” She shifted, revealing a glint of metal at her hip.

He remembered Anakin’s Master complaining when his Padawan had lost his lightsaber, forcing them to add a side trip to Ilum into their already-busy schedule. It seemed that the lightsaber wasn’t quite as “lost” as people had assumed. He reached up to tap his mask, thinking it over.

“He sends his love,” he said, noting how some of the wrinkles around her eyes relaxed at that.

“I thought Jedi weren’t allowed to love.” Askrik’s tongue flicked out. “And if he loves her so much, why isn’t he here?”

“Ashkrik!” Shmi turned her head to glare.  _ “Dirte!” _

“He wanted to come,” Plo said, ignoring the trandoshan’s hostile tone. “But the Council decided that someone with more seniority would be better to deal with so delicate a situation.”

“And yet you come bringing slaves of your own.” Pampy spoke towards the ground, her fingers worrying at a hole in the hem of her tunic.

Wolffe took a half-step forward. “We are not-”

Plo reached out a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright, Commander. It’s a fair question, under the circumstances.”

“But-”

Plo looked at him. He could hear Sinker and Boost muttering complaints, too.

“We’re on a world with recently-liberated slaves,” he said, speaking to all of them. “The issue of indentured servitude is important to them. It’s important to me, as well, as it is to all the Jedi who are working towards peace in the universe.”

Wolffe backed down, but he noted that the Committee members looked unconvinced. He sighed into his breathing mask. The advent of the war had thrust the Order into numerous unpleasant situations; the status of the clones was among the larger ones.

“Please, be seated,” Shmi said, gesturing at a low table where food was being laid out by people who didn’t linger long to gawk at the newcomers. “Your men may take off their helmets, if they’re allowed.”

It was a small barb, but the tone had already been set, and as Plo carefully lowered himself to the floor of what had once been Jabba the Hutt’s throne room, he hoped with all his heart that he’d be able to succeed on this mission.

Wolffe signalled to Sinker and Boost and the three of them removed their helmets before joining Plo at the table.

“Did you remember your straw, sir?” Wolffe asked.

Chuckling, Plo unpacked his flextube and fitted it into the port on his antiox mask that allowed him to drink without suffocating in a poisonous atmosphere.

“It was only one time, Wolffe,” he said.

“I’m sorry that we weren’t warned of your… restrictions,” Shmi said. “Will you be able to partake in the Water Ceremony?”

“A small amount of water won’t cause me any harm,” he said. It sometimes caused indigestion, but the way she said it indicated that the Water Ceremony was important.

“Good,” Jeela said, and began pouring water into small wooden cups. “This is the best way to begin any bargaining.”

A twist in her snout caused her words to be slurred, but Plo had no trouble understanding her. He listened to her explanation of the ceremony and was pleased to see the troops join him in taking sips and repeating phrases that symbolically bound them all together.  _ Water is life. Water is hope. Water is what we all have in common. _

His eyes kept drifting towards Shmi, who had a glow about her that was more than just good lighting. He wondered why Qui-Gon’s reports from that long-ago encounter never mentioned that she was Force sensitive. Oh, she wasn’t half as strong as her son, but she had enough of an aura that being near her was a comfort.

“Sso tell us, Jedi, why should we want to help you when you were of no help to us?”

Ashkrik’s gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts. He blinked, realizing that the dishes were already being cleared away. Perhaps he’d been lost in daydreams longer than he’d thought.

“We help when and where we can,” Plo said, choosing his words carefully. “But we are also limited by the permissions of the Senate, which restricts our dealings outside the Republic.”

“Unless a world has something you need,” Jeela said. “Then suddenly your hands are no longer tied, is that it?”

He sighed, mentally preparing himself for a long discussion. It was a welcome break from the battlefields, but no less dangerous, and he was sadly out of practice when it came to negotiations.

  
  


By the end of the day, very little progress had been made, but Plo had a much clearer idea of just how tarnished the Jedi Order’s reputation had become in the Outer Rim. If it was this bad here, he wondered how much worse it might be closer to the Core. It might be worth discussing with the rest of the Council when he returned to Coruscant.

After supper he decided to take a walk to clear his mind. Wolffe and his brothers stayed behind, well-sated by a hearty meal of something other than rations. A small balcony offered an impressive view of the surrounding desert and the majesty of a night sky unobstructed by light pollution.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

He glanced over to see Shmi Skywalker standing in the open door frame, chin up and gaze direct. 

“By all means, Elder Skywalker,” he said, gesturing at the open bench beside him. “I would welcome your company.”

She smiled. “Just Shmi is fine, thank you.” She sat beside him on the bench, also taking in the view.

“Then I insist you call me Plo, Shmi.” He flexed his tusks in a smile. “I must admit, your world is far lovelier than your son led me to believe.”

Shmi’s laugh was a bright bubble of sound. “Ani was never fond of this place,” She said. “All the terrible, terrible sand.”

“It  _ does  _ get everywhere.” He chuckled. “However, one cannot really blame him for his complaints given the circumstances of his life here.”

Shmi hummed agreement. “I was glad he got a chance to live a life I couldn’t.”

“And he’s done very well for himself.” Plo could sense the warmth of good feeling that surrounded her. “He was recently made a Knight, although something tells me you already knew that.”

“Yes.” Shmi’s hand moved to rest at her hip, where the lightsaber was concealed. “He has managed to keep in touch despite your Jedi injunction against attachments.”

“Indeed. I notice he gifted you with his lightsaber.”

“Indeed.” The smile she leveled at him was all sharp angles. “Are you going to tell on him?”

Plo shrugged. “What business is it of mine what Anakin does? He’s a good Knight and strong in the Force. He may see pathways that the rest of us do not.”

She tilted her head, and he felt a flush of warmth at her regard.

“Maybe he does,” she said. “What would you say if I told you that his lightsaber was crucial in helping us win our freedom?”

He knew what the Council would say, and what they would expect him to say. He leaned down, watching the bright spark in those faded brown eyes.

“Good for you,” he said.

She laughed again, resting a hand on his arm. He managed not to startle at the contact; most people, especially those outside the Order, found his appearance repulsive and avoided coming too close to him. All he sensed from Shmi was amused approval. It was a good feeling.

“You aren’t like the other Jedi I’ve met,” she said.

As far as he knew, the only other Jedi she’d met, other than her son, was Qui-Gon Jinn, who hadn’t had much to say about her other than mentioning she existed.

“Is that a good thing?”

He could almost feel her weighing her words.

“Yes,” she said, giving his arm a small squeeze. “Yes, I believe it is.”

  
  


Talks resumed the next morning, and if one of the servers seemed to be paying particular attention to Sinker, Plo was smart enough to look the other way.

“Republic, Separatist, they’re both terrible!” Ashkrik snapped his teeth as he paced around the throne room. “Both have slave armies and both pretend they don’t!”

“Both?” Boost asked as Wolffe once again denied they were slaves.

“The droid army,” Jeela said, wrinkling her warped snout. “They have no say in the fight, either.”

“But they’re just droids!”

A labor droid, holding a tray of food while the servers placed things on the table, suddenly tilted sideways, spilling a bowl of porridge into Boost’s lap. He yelped, standing up to wipe ineffectively at his armor while the droid warbled an apology.

Pampy covered her mouth, giggling helplessly. Even Ashkrik snorted, showing his teeth in a grin.

“I think the droids may have their own opinions on their status,” Plo said, tusks twitching as he tried to suppress a smile.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Boost complained, accepting a towel from a laughing server. The heat in his face was intense, but no harm had been done and soon everyone had settled down again.

“I hadn’t considered the matter of the droids,” Plo said. “I may have to meditate on that later. But as for the troopers, I will say that we are doing everything we can to try and get them rights. The problem arises with the Senate stonewalling our efforts, partly out of fear of a mass desertion.”

“So you admit that many of your men aren’t fighting willingly,” Jeela said, her starry eyes intent on him.

He raised a hand to forestall the objection he knew Wolffe was about to make. 

“It’s a complicated issue,” he said.

“Not that complicated,” Ashkrik grumbled.

“But I believe you’re right,” Plo continued, ignoring the interruption. “There may well be men fighting only because they have to, and I understand that this is wrong.” He spread his hands, trying to make sure his claws were pointed downward in a non-threatening gesture.

“And yet you do nothing to stop it.” Pampy’s lekku twitched derision.

“You could fight the Senate,” Shmi said, folding her arms over her chest. “The Jedi are beholden to the Republic’s government only because you allow it.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Plo started.

“We rose up against the tyrants who were keeping us down.” Ashkrik’s nostrils flared. “And look at us now!”

Wolffe leaned forward. “If the Jedi tried to withdraw, they’d be labeled as traitors!” He reached up, rubbing his temple. “And if we don’t fight, the Seppies would overrun the Republic!”

“And why is that? Commander Wolffe, right?” Shmi smiled at him. “From what I understand, the Separatists wanted just that: to separate from the Republic. But your government wouldn’t allow that and so no they’re at war.”

Plo was tapping his mask again. These people were not fools, no matter what the Supreme Chancellor’s opinion might be. The points they were raising were important, and if they lacked some nuance, it didn’t make them any less right. The Jedi’s involvement in the war and the ongoing issue of trooper rights were issues he’d been struggling with himself.

Wolffe continued to argue in favor of the Republic, but Plo settled back, letting the conversation wash over him.His attention drifted toward Shmi and he realized that she was watching him as well. 

“What would you do to protect them?” She asked, eyes flicking to Wolffe and his brothers.

Before he could answer, Pampy spoke up again.

“They’re willing to throw away lives for this war, provided they aren’t Jedi lives!” She lifted her chin, looking at him for the first time, even as she trembled. “I follow the news feeds. We know about what happened in the Abregado System.”

Plo felt a chasm open in his chest, as cold and bitter as the vacuum of space.

Wolffe lunged to his feet, followed by Sinker and Boost. “You don’t get to talk to him about that!” He snapped.

“Th-three whole Star Destroyers f-full of people,” Pampy said, the trembling getting worse. “How- how many died?”

“He saved us!” Wolffe’s fists clenched at his sides. “I won’t stand here and listen to this!”

“Over six thousand troopers,” Plo said, his voice strained. “And nearly triple that for mixed-species crew.”

“Sir,” Wolffe said.

“No, Wolffe.” Plo got to his feet, feeling he’d aged ten years in the past few minutes. “They have a right to know.”

“Only the three with you survived?”

He looked at Shmi, wincing at the sympathy he saw there.

“Because the Seppies sent out pod-killers to eliminate survivors!” Wolffe snarled. “The Seppies you keep trying to paint as victims!” He turned to face Plo. “Come on, sir! We don’t need to listen to this osik!”

Plo bowed his head. “There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t regret my actions or the loss of life my choices caused.” 

Wolffe rested a hand on his shoulder. “The only reason we’re alive now is because of you, sir,” he said, all harshness gone from his voice.

Plo nodded acknowledgement of the words.

Shmi cleared her throat. “It’s good that you recognize your mistakes and that you seem to care about your troopers,” she said. “But I have one last question for you. Would the Jedi have gone looking for Commander Wolffe and Troopers Sinker and Boost if they’d had proof of your death?”

The gulf grew a little deeper. He felt Wolffe go still beside him and sensed Sinker and Boost’s attention on him. His helium mix felt weak as he dragged air into his lungs.

“I… I don’t know,” he said. “I like to think they would, but with the extreme danger posed by the  _ Malevolence _ …” He sometimes found himself wondering if a rescue would have come even if it had been a different Jedi involved, or if it was only because of Ahsoka’s fondness- her  _ attachment- _ to him and her own bantha-headed stubbornness in insisting on a search that led to their rescue.

“If you’ll excuse me, Honored Elders,” he said. “I believe I need to go and meditate for a while.”

“We’ll meet again after lunch,” Ashkrik said.

Bowing to the Committee, he turned to face Wolffe, resting a clawed hand on his cheek.

“You and your brothers will always be important to me,” he said.

“I know, sir.  _ Buir.”  _ Wolffe patted his hand.

Hiding a wince, Plo strode from the room.  _ Buir. Father.  _ The word cut deep, though he doubted Wolffe realized that. The Wolf Pack, both old and new, had developed a habit of calling him  _ buir  _ during their off hours. It had started as a joke, but quickly blossomed into something more. Plo hadn’t felt this unworthy of the honorific since the Battle of Abregado itself.

He attempted to meditate out on the balcony, but the peaceful state necessary kept eluding him. After a while he gave up, standing to do katas instead. Some did use it as a form of moving meditation, though he’d never felt the need before now.

He sensed the warm spark that was Shmi approaching, but continued through the third form until she spoke.

“I’m sorry if our questions hurt you,” she said, leaning against the door frame.

“Not at all.” He lowered his arms, turning to face her. “They were necessary, despite the pain they caused.” He tilted his head. “Or perhaps because of it.”

Her smile helped soothe some of his heartache. “Good. I’m glad you understand. Would you mind some company?”

“I’d welcome  _ your  _ company, Shmi,” he said, realizing too late how he’d emphasized the word.

Scoffing, she joined him on the balcony, tilting her head back to look up at his face.

“I know it may not seem like it, but your sincerity is helping to alleviate some of the Committee’s concerns.”

Plo frowned behind his mask, tusks tightening. “That’s good to hear, although they are right to have concerns. I am less certain of my own position since we started.”

“Sometimes a little shakeup is good for the soul,” she said. “It keeps us from becoming too set in our ways. Don’t you agree?”

He pictured the Council, steadily growing more rigid; an effect that had only sped up since the start of the war.

“I do.” The words were slow, as thoughts and realizations began to fire off like a string of sparklers.

“You care deeply for them, don’t you?” Shmi asked, stepping closer.

“Hm?” All the questionable decisions, all the increasing shadows working their way into the heart of the Temple…

“Your men.” She paused. “Your sons? I’ve met some Mandalorians, I know what  _ buir  _ means.”

“Yes.” He could feel a weight being lifted from his chest. “Yes, they are my sons. As much as they ever can be.”

She pressed a hand over his heart. “We can help you, if you’ll allow it. You and them; not just your sons, but all the troopers.”

He thought of the war. The deaths. The choking grief threaded through the rising darkness. He remembered too many troopers dying without ever learning their names.

“Please.” He reached up, cupping her cheek in his hand. “It has to be their choice, but please.”

Her smile was radiant, burning into the very core of him. “Of course.”

There was a pressure on the back of his neck. He lowered his head, hunching down until his forehead was touching hers.

“We’ll always be here for those who’ve lost their way,” she said as he felt his eyes closing.

“I’ll always be here for you.”


End file.
